


Second Sight

by FereldanDorkMage



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Artist!Sherlock, How do tags?, M/M, rugby!john, teen!lock
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-10
Updated: 2014-08-10
Packaged: 2018-02-08 03:23:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,081
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1924875
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FereldanDorkMage/pseuds/FereldanDorkMage
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This is done in an America, because that's where I live.<br/>Not Beta'd.<br/>I'm sorry.</p>
    </blockquote>





	Second Sight

**Author's Note:**

> This is done in an America, because that's where I live.  
> Not Beta'd.  
> I'm sorry.

John ran down the hallways, aiming for the row of lockers that held his at the end. He turned to the side slightly and stopped running, skidding into place. Just two casual steps away from his locker, and a few feet away from the principal's office window.

Nobody really knew who the principal was, just that those who went in the office were too traumatized to say anything about them. And really, it wasn't a risk John was willing to take. The whole thing reminded him of the black lagoon books he'd read as a kid. Or that one he read about the teacher being replaced by an alien who kidnapped a student and ran away to his home planet. He hated it.

He slung open his locker after entering in the combination, cringing at the way the bang echoed down eerily quiet hallways. He looked back at the principal's door to see if it was creaking open, or if tentacles were reaching toward him. Being late was nerve-racking.

He stuffed his novel and binder into his book bag before zipping it up most of the way and sprinting off in the direction of his English class.

He slid into the door, stood up and walked in as if it didn't come across his mind that he was seventeen minutes late.

The teacher, a short woman named Riton, gave him the disappointed look only a teacher could manage. At least she wouldn't tell coach he was late again today. Enough complaints would see him benched for the rest of the season, and he was really hoping to keep playing long enough for a scholarship.

He sat down in the empty seat at the back and pulled out the binder. He pressed the pen to a page, but made no marks past the blue dot the pen left behind. His eyes wandered around the room, not really settling anywhere.

Then they stopped. There was a boy, one John had never really noticed, but had seen. But now he had seen him, noticed him, and fascination and curiosity took him over.

John watched the boy whose hair covered his eyes. Whose hoodie was a bit too baggy, with too-long sleeves. He watched and noticed that the boy didn't look at the teacher or the other students. He watched the boys hand fly over the book in front of him in fluid movements, his long fingers curled around the black pencil.

He wondered how the boy could have been so invisible. Now that he'd seen him, he remembered him. But all the memories were almost vague.

And when he followed him out of the room after class, he saw it. Saw the sketch of him, and it took his breath away. But then he saw wide green-blue-grey eyes, and he fell in love at second sight.

Sally Donovan came up behind him, arm linked with her on-and-off again boyfriend. He knew Anderson through rugby, but no one off the rugby team or cheering group cared much for Anderson.

It was almost common sense to hate him. Everybody hated Anderson, and Sally.... Sally was Sally. Or maybe just sense, because most of the rugby boys had no shred of the common intelligence. The stereo-type pained John almost every second spent on the field.

"Hullo John! Coming to lunch."

He groaned inwardly. Why those two. And, fucking Christ, why now? Couldn't the universe wait to send the most annoying couple in the entire school after him when he was a little less pre-occupied? Was that too much to request? Knowing his track record, probably.

"Sorry, I'm a bit busy right now." She raised an eyebrow, the gesture most likely meant to be her way asking when this schedule change had happened. He blatantly ignored it. 

"Maybe later on this week?" He supplied it as a piece offering, since it was the only olive branch he had at the moment.

Anderson sneered. "What, too busy chasing that freak?" And then he wanted to take his olive branch back, snap it in half, and burn it right in front of Anderson's feet. Or maybe on Anderson's feet. Perhaps tie him to a post and get at a proper witch's trial.

If he requested, the principal might fund it. They could all make s'mores over the charred remains. Or roast hot dogs. That is, if he were brave enough to voluntarily venture into the mysterious office.

He sighed and settled for a quick, and mean, comment to parry back the attack.

"I don't see any freak nearby, well, beside you Anderson. Fuck off."

Anderson scoffed and muttered something about Harry under his breath.

He did not have time for this shit, and he was really starting to get pissed. John decided to not stain the linoleum with blood and walked off (he honestly liked the janitor, and he really didn't want to make the guy clean up more than the filth he already had too), approaching the boy he had been following before Tweedledee and Tweedledum had side-tracked him. John leaned against the locker one over from the boy and grinned at him. The boy raised an eyebrow at him, his eyes flicking up, down, and up again.

"What do you want?"

"Uhmm, just to say hi!" John paused, one hand going to the back of his neck. "I'm John."

"Yes, I know." Sherlock looked at John, and frowned a little. "My name's Sherlock."

John beamed at him, his smile radiating warmth like a small sun.

"Wanna have lunch with me?" John stammered a little on the 'with me.' He hoped that Sherlock hadn't heard.

Sherlock nodded, mercifully ignoring the stutter and pulling a canvas messenger bag out of his locker, then swinging the alarmingly yellow door shut. He watched John, who was now bouncing on the balls of his feet while shooting Anderson and Sally occasional glares over his shoulder. 

"Okay. But we're not eating in the cafeteria. There's too many brawn's there."

John smiled a little at the name. "Then where-"

Sherlock pulled the bag over his shoulder and pulled the strap down onto his chest. "You'll see."

John shrugged and put his hands on the straps of his backpack. "Fine, as long as you're not trying to murder me."

The boys eyes flashed and he smirked as he replied. "For that, I think I'd use poison."

Then he jet off, streaking down the hall. John laughed and ran after Sherlock, shouting back "Of course you would!"

**Author's Note:**

> Comments make me want to write. Just sayin'.


End file.
